It was the human half that hated.
Braden began to undress. He heard Stefan follow suit. The witnesses made no sound but that of their breathing.
When he was naked, Braden Changed. As always, he gloried in his body’s transformation. Muscle and bone shifted painlessly, shaking free of human restraints. In a handful of seconds he crouched ready as a wolf, blind as before but possessed of keener senses than he owned in human shape. Every scent had color, every sound a texture.
And everything became simple, clean, clear. He put the witnesses from his thoughts and gathered himself for the charge. As challenged, he was permitted the first attack.
But Boroskov broke the rules. Because Braden was ready for such a betrayal, the impact of the Russian’s body was not as devastating as his enemy had hoped. They tumbled onto the ground, each thrashing for the superior position, teeth bared and ears flat.
Braden let the wolf take complete possession of his mind as well as his body. He forgot that he had ever had the sense of sight. His ears and nose and supple body, and the sixth-sense unique to the werewolf kind, were developed to their maximum capacity. Unerringly his jaws found Boroskov’s upper foreleg and bit down. Boroskov howled with pain.
It was only the first feint in a long and desperate contest. For Boroskov, too, was powerful, and his depravity was unbounded by any regard for ethics. He gave free rein to his hatred, and in his very recklessness he was a deadly foe. Had Braden been able to see, his own discipline would have given him the ultimate advantage. Now, they were equal.
The battle was ruthless and without mercy on either side, no quarter asked or given. Braden was thrown to the ground again and again, only to fight his way up to meet Boroskov’s razor fangs. Blood flowed and claws scrabbled for purchase on torn earth. The numerous small wounds that pierced his body under the heavy pelt went disregarded, as Boroskov ignored his own. Only the rare snarl broke the eerie, relentless silence.
But the damage inflicted became more severe, and exhaustion took its toll. Boroskov used his blindness against him with greater and greater frequency. Blood matted Braden’s fur and made Boroskov’s slick in his grasp. Muscles strained to their limits. Braden called on deeper reserves of energy to keep himself on his feet.
And then he made a mistake. For one disastrous instant, all his senses failed him. He miscalculated Boroskov’s position, lunged at empty air, and suddenly the Russian was at his throat, pinning him down under fourteen stone of bone and muscle and malevolence. Teeth ground into Braden’s flesh, piercing, rending.
Cassidy. Choking for air, Braden felt her as if she were standing beside him, lending him her courage and strength. Inwardly, he howled. All her courage would mean nothing if Boroskov won. She would become his plaything, her innocence debauched, her body broken…
With a final burst of energy, Braden erupted upward, flinging Boroskov aside like a mantle of dead autumn leaves. He pounded the Russian down with his full weight, straddled him, snapped for the life-pulse bearing hot under the werewolf’s jaw.
The booming crack of a gunshot exploded close to Braden’s ear, and he lost his grip. Voices cried out. A body slammed into his—not Boroskov’s, but another. Fedor. Fedor, who had been missing all this time. Fedor in wolf form, treacherously joining his brother.
The witnesses could or would not interfere. Fedor was fresh, unwounded. With his brother beside him, he charged again. Braden fell. The odds were against him now, and death watched at his shoulder. Exhaustion and pain betrayed him as surely as his enemies. He clawed at the very edge of the pit.
Fangs ground into his throat. The world went blacker than any blindness could make it.
Cassidy, he cried soundlessly.
She answered. She was there, in truth, her scent and her unmistakable spirit. He was unable to warn her away; he made one last effort to swim up out of oblivion.
One moment Stefan’s fangs were ready to sever his windpipe, and the next the Russian was gone, yelping in shock. A commotion of shouts and scurrying bodies descended around him. He gasped for breath, aware only that Fedor and Stefan were no longer killing him… and that Cassidy was somewhere near, her presence a triumphant melody.